nights like these
by quorra laraex
Summary: Being bad never felt so good. — Damon/Elena


**nights like these**  
(_being bad never felt so good_.)

.

.

.

There were two types of boys. There were boys who knew how to respect a girl, and boys who knew how to disrespect a girl. Good quality or bad, Damon Salvatore was both. And Elena was (ever so _secretly_) hooked on the very wrong brother.

Cravings—she has many—too many—that aren't ever satisfied nor understood by her supposed significant other.

And she doesn't intend on repeating history, but when she _wants_, she _needs_. And that's something else Stefan doesn't understand, the selfishness that consumes her when she craves. He will simply _Elena_ her, attempt to console her with holding back what she wants with dull words in order to learn from him that go on and on and _on_. But she doesn't want to be taught, she wants to experience.

And Stefan doesn't get it. He never really does. Times like these, she doesn't care for sweet, for naïve, for his babying, for _him_.

She wants to feel the adrenaline in her veins and her spine tingle and the taste of the metallic crimson in her mouth and forceful lips on hers with a tongue pushing an exhalation of ecstasy from her throat that thirsts for everything exciting—for everything _wrong_. She wants to drink and dance until the sun rises with the hands of the wrong brother feel the skin he reveals for himself, rising higher up her thighs. She wants the danger only one man is capable of giving her.

It's true that Stefan makes her feel wonderful; there's no doubt about it, his kindness vibrating from the golden amber that were his eyes. He'll tell her she's beautiful, his voice like honey marmalade, his eyes—the usual, serious gaze.

But with Damon—it's something else entirely; with how his egotistical and snarky demeanor instantly vanishes at the sight of her smile. His eyes like to morph into her, swallow her in and keep her staring—and without words, those oceanic orbs tell her more than what Stefan has ever let slip passed his lips.

And when she remembers that Damon hasn't said anything to her yet, her attention's pulled to his mouth, pink and puckered in that signature smirk, and she always forgets how to breathe.

It's something in the way he looks at her that makes her feel alive, as if he's coming undone by just the sight of her, and she won't be able to decipher whose heartbeats were louder, the staccato penetration underneath their ribs—she feels not only beautiful with him, but stunningly sexy. With a single glance in her direction, he effortlessly brings out a whole different side of her; one that she hadn't even realized dwelled within her. She was condescending, manipulative, and rough, unafraid of the way his body would crush hers against the wall. She would only retaliate with a half smile and a glimmer in her eyes that was reserved for only him as she pushes his bare chest with equal force onto the bed. She'll crawl on top of him, his fingers sliding up her sides and over her chest before he can't take the teasing and rips the whole damn thing off her.

Elena craves Damon's mouth on her, to consume her body the same way his love consumes her. This was everything she had resisted in the past, and she was not holding back now. Their selfish nights were theirs to keep.

"Forget respect," she'll whisper as she rims the shell of his ear with her tongue. "Fuck me."

"Extra feisty," his voice is dark, seducing below her. His eyes never leave hers. "You _have_ been quite naughty."

"Oh, shut up," and they'll continue without a single damn because they both want this and love would always be selfish. He makes her scream the loudest she's ever been while her toes curl and her nails scratch. Her throat hitches and erotic bliss ensues round after round.

Damon eases her pain and soothes her aches, exhilarating her with his eyes and shocking her with pleasurable gasps at his actions that drive him insane. They do the things she's never experienced before—the things Stefan and Bonnie and Caroline would all disapprove of. It only makes these times even more thrilling, because what's thrilling is what's forbidden; and who didn't like a little rebellion?

Being bad never felt so good.

She would wake up beside him, memories of the night before flashing back and forth in her mind while her pinnacle of thoughts, her worries, were still disintegrated and detached. But that didn't matter much.

They might have done wrong, but that didn't matter either, since it had all felt too _right_.

Elena inhales his scent, entranced by how well she recognized the smell of rain and peppermint on his skin, as bare limbs were tangled under a thin sheet. She didn't care to move because she liked the warmth he supplied her the morning after their marathon of careless sins. The way his chest rose and fell with her palm atop it and how he whispered her name in his sleep all made her feel an unfamiliar sense of happiness, that only he could embellish from her. It was one that differed from the kind of warmth she had with her family, with her friends, with Stefan. Nights like these always awoke her with a new touch of tranquility and excitement all in one.

And for a split second, she believes it; that this was right—that _they_ were right all along.

But before she could make something of that particular epiphany, she'll drowsily fall back into slumber and when they'll both wake up, rights and wrongs would be the last thing on their minds.

_fin._

**.**

**.**

**.**

**note: **Damon Salvatore. I'm so in love dude. If Elena doesn't want him I'd be glad to give him the happiness he deserves. Not kidddding. But yeah... I'm getting the feeling they won't be canon and that kills me.  
**note2:** please review, i'd really love some feedback despite how short this is. it's my first delena fic and i love them to shreds and i really need your thoughts! thanks for reading!


End file.
